Harry had been half-listening to Thalia's excited recounting of her hunt when the feeling returned—like a sudden, heavy pressure in the air, as if the forest itself were holding its breath.
He lifted his head, expression sharpening.
Thalia trailed off mid-sentence, frowning. "What is it?"
He didn't answer. Slowly, he rose from the low camp stool, reaching out with the strange sixth sense that had grown stronger ever since the Hallows had fused with his magic.
There—movement. Eight presences circling the clearing. Not ordinary mortals. Each carried a cold, focused intent that prickled across his skin like static.
He took a slow, steady breath. "Someone's here."
Thalia stiffened, hand inching toward her pendant.
"Stay inside the tent," Harry ordered quietly, voice low and calm. "No matter what you hear."
Her mouth opened to protest, but he was already moving.
With a thought, he willed the tent's flap shut behind him and stepped into the dawn-lit clearing.
Snow crunched under his boots as he scanned the pines, every sense straining. He counted the presences again. Eight. Surrounding him evenly in an outward arc, moving closer.
He drew his celestial bronze sword and set his feet, prepared to defend.
For a long, breathless moment, nothing moved.
Then the first arrow came.
It was fast—faster than any projectile he'd faced in the war—but his reflexes had long outgrown human limits. He snatched it from the air with one hand, feeling the shaft shiver in his grip.
A second arrow followed, then a third—fired from different angles, forcing him to twist, pivot, duck. The last glanced off his shoulder, deflected by a flicker of protective magic.
He exhaled in a slow, controlled hiss.
So that's how it is.
From the trees, eight figures burst into view—young women in silver and white, their faces shadowed by the dawn. They moved in perfect unison, their weapons gleaming: bows, knives, curved hunting blades.
Their speed was inhuman.
He barely had time to lift his sword before they were on him.
The first girl lunged low, slashing at his legs. He pivoted sideways, parrying with the flat of his blade. Another attacker came from his left, stabbing toward his ribs. He twisted and blocked, feeling the jarring force of the impact travel up his arm.
A third archer drew back an arrow at point-blank range. He slammed his palm into her bow, forcing it aside as she loosed. The arrow embedded itself in a pine with a heavy thunk.
They were disciplined—more disciplined than any group of mortals he'd ever fought. They didn't hesitate or break formation. If anything, they grew more precise as he deflected each attack.
These aren't normal hunters, he thought, his heartbeat steady despite the flurry of motion. They're trained for this.
He ducked another blade, then rolled beneath a leaping strike. As he came up, he parried a slash aimed at his face and kicked one of them back into the snow.
"Stop!" he barked, voice ringing with force. "I don't want to hurt you!"
But no one paused. If anything, they pressed in harder.
Another arrow shot past his ear, so close it sliced a lock of his hair.
And that was when he felt it—the cold, immense presence at the edge of the clearing. Older, more powerful than the others. Watching with judgment as cold as the winter air.
He didn't have time to look. Another Huntress was charging him, blade drawn high.
With a grunt, he pivoted behind her, struck her wrist to disarm her, then shoved her backward. She skidded across the snow but came up on one knee, eyes burning with fury.
"Thalia, stay down!" he shouted over his shoulder.
He risked a glance toward the tent, hoping she'd stayed inside.
But Thalia was already there—standing just beyond the clearing, eyes wide with horror.
"No—stop!" she cried, her voice cracking. "Don't hurt him!"
He saw her raise a hand, as if she would rush to his side. And in that instant, something cold and certain clenched in his gut.
He couldn't fight these women while worrying about Thalia's safety.
Before any of them could reach her, he whirled, lunged across the clearing, and planted a foot in the center of her chest. She yelped as he shoved her back into the trees—hard enough to tumble her safely out of sight.
"Stay out of it!" he bellowed.
He turned back just in time to see the Huntresses' fury ignite.
One of them snarled, voice dripping venom. "You dare strike her—pervert!"
Another loosed an arrow at his heart. He twisted, letting it skim his shoulder, and raised his sword to guard again.
Around him, eight pairs of eyes burned with the promise of retribution.
And standing at the edge of the treeline, her silver bow raised in silent accusation, was the goddess herself.
Artemis.
Their gazes met—and in that frozen moment, Harry understood.
This wasn't a test.
This was a hunt.
His jaw tightened as he raised his blade to guard.
"Listen to me," he called, voice steady despite the whirlwind around him. "I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to fight."
"Then surrender," Artemis's voice rang across the snow, cold and absolute.
But surrender meant leaving Thalia unprotected. Leaving Teddy, Callie, Hermione—all of them—to face whatever judgment she passed.
He looked into her unflinching eyes and understood: she would never believe a word he said.
So be it, he thought, and set his feet.
The Hunters came as one, their silver blades a storm.
And Harry Potter met them in silence.
Snow exploded around Harry's boots as he braced himself, drawing on the deep well of magic that had become as natural to him as breath.
I warned them, he thought coldly. I gave them the chance to walk away.
He exhaled, and the air shivered.
A ripple moved across the clearing—silent, invisible to any mortal eye—and the earth answered.
Roots erupted from beneath the snow, thick as a man's wrist and hard as iron. They burst upward in tangles of ice-dusted bark, wrapping around ankles and wrists, yanking weapons from startled hands. The Huntresses cried out, struggling against the living bonds, but every movement only made the roots constrict tighter.
Phoebe lunged to free herself, but the ground itself seemed to liquefy around her boots. She sank to her knees as tendrils of soil and vine twisted around her chest, pinning her arms to her sides.
Naomi swung her silver blade in a savage arc, slicing one root clean through—but before she could take another step, a dozen more shot up to replace it, knotting around her throat and dragging her down.
They fought—fierce, silent, unflinching—but they were outmatched. One by one, they fell, bound and immobilized. The snow churned with flailing limbs and snapping branches as the enchanted roots drew them slowly to the ground.
Artemis stood alone at the edge of the carnage, her silver gaze locked on Harry's face. The fury in her eyes was ancient, bottomless—a goddess's wrath.
"You dare," she breathed, voice low and cold as deep winter. "You dare raise your hand against my Hunt."
Her aura flared, blinding silver, and she drew her bow. The string shimmered with moonlight as she pulled it back—no arrow needed.
Harry raised his hand, and the earth heeded him again.
A wave of thick roots swept up the slope, battering aside the conjured moonlight in a hiss of splintering magic. Artemis leapt clear, moving in a blur of silver grace, and fired—one, two, three arrows in the time it took most mortals to blink.
He deflected them with a flick of his hand, the projectiles shattering midair in bursts of pale light.
She landed lightly, the snow untouched beneath her boots. For the first time, something like uncertainty flickered across her face.
Harry stepped forward, every line of his body brimming with lethal purpose.
"I don't want to kill you," he said, voice low and even. "But I will not let you harm me."
Artemis's eyes narrowed. "You cannot kill me, boy."
"Maybe, Maybe not." His fingers curled, and a new surge of magic thundered through the clearing. "But I can make you regret trying."
He thrust his hand forward, and the roots responded—lashing around her ankles, her wrists, her waist. She twisted, slashing with a dagger of moonlight, severing several bonds. But for each root she destroyed, more replaced them, climbing inexorably up her body.
"You will not—!" she snarled, but the roots caught her throat, forcing her head back.
With a roar, she unleashed a shockwave of divine power. Snow blasted outward in a white halo, the Hunters crying out as their hair whipped in the wind. For a heartbeat, it looked as though she might break free.
Then Harry stepped in, close enough to see the silver flecks in her eyes. He pressed his palm to her chest. His power crashed against hers—silent, inexorable—and the magic suppression ropes he'd conjured coiled tight around her arms and torso.
Artemis stiffened as the ropes sank into her aura, siphoning her power, sealing her movements.
Her knees hit the snow.
For the first time in all her long existence, Artemis fell before a mortal hand.
Around the clearing, her Huntresses screamed in outrage and horror, but none could rise to help her. They were pinned helpless beneath layers of living earth.
Harry drew a breath that shuddered in the cold.
He had never fought like this—not even in the final hours against Voldemort. This was raw, unrestrained. No strategy. No caution. Just survival.
His heart pounded in his throat as he lifted his sword, the blade catching the dawn.
"You came here," he said hoarsely, "to kill me without cause. You tried to slaughter me like I am some prey. You don't get to walk away."
Artemis glared up at him, her eyes cold, unyielding. "Do it, then."
He raised the sword higher.
And all around him, the Huntresses screamed:
"NO!"
"Please—she is not—!"
"You don't understand—!"
But he heard none of it. The roar of his heartbeat drowned everything. He felt the weight of every fight, every betrayal, every time he'd tried to show mercy and paid for it in blood.
No more.
His muscles tensed. He began the swing.
And lightning slammed into the blade with a blinding crack.
Harry staggered back, blinded by the white flare. The blade shivered in his hand.
When the sparks faded, he looked up—and found Thalia standing between them, her lightsaber still glowing with her power.
Her eyes were huge, shocked, but steady. "Harry—stop!"
He could barely catch his breath. "She tried to kill me," he rasped. "Did you see what she—"
"Yes!" Thalia's voice cracked. "I saw! But she's not a monster. She's Artemis."
He stared at her. "I don't care if she's Zeus himself—"
"She thought you were hurting me!" Thalia screamed. Tears slid down her cheeks, freezing in the wind. "She thought you—she thought you were a bad man!"
Harry's throat closed.
For the first time, he really looked at her—at the grime on her face, the fear in her eyes. Not fear for herself, but for him. For what he was about to do.
"She was trying to protect me," Thalia whispered. "She didn't know."
Harry swallowed hard. His sword felt impossibly heavy. Slowly, he lowered it.
The clearing went utterly silent.
Wind tugged at the edges of Artemis's silver cloak as she lifted her head to stare at Thalia.
"You…know this boy?" she demanded, her voice hoarse.
Thalia turned to her goddess, still shaking. "He's not my captor," she said fiercely. "He's my teacher. My protector."
Harry closed his eyes and drew in a ragged breath. He could feel his power thrumming under his skin, feral and unspent.
But for Thalia—he forced it down. Every last drop of it.
He opened his eyes again and met Artemis's gaze.
No triumph. No hatred. Just exhaustion.
And slowly, one by one, the roots uncoiled, falling limp to the snow.
Snow drifted lazily through the dawn as the clearing settled into a stunned quiet.
The Huntresses, still bound by the last shreds of enchanted roots, stared at Harry as if seeing a ghost. Artemis slowly rose to her feet, brushing frost from her silver cloak, her face pale but composed.
Thalia stood between them, her chest still heaving. She looked over her shoulder at Harry and managed a weak, tired smile.
"That…could have gone better," she murmured.
Harry let out a slow, shuddering breath and nodded. "Yeah."
Zoe Nightshade was the first to speak. "You," she said hoarsely, glaring at Harry. "You are the wizard who built the wards around Camp Half-Blood."
Harry looked at her, feeling as if he'd woken from a long nightmare. "Yes."
A ripple of recognition passed through the Huntresses. Naomi, pinned by a root, blinked rapidly. "But—he's just a boy," she whispered to Phoebe. "I thought—"
"You thought I'd be old," Harry finished quietly, letting his magic dissolve the last of the bindings. "White beard, staff, some kind of wizard out of a storybook."
Zoe coughed in embarrassment as the roots slithered back into the earth. "Yes."
Artemis's gaze flicked from the freed Huntresses to Thalia, then back to Harry. She looked…tired. And still wary, though the worst of the anger had faded.
"I have heard much of you," she said at last, her voice measured. "From Dionysus. From Chiron. I did not expect—" She hesitated, searching for words. "—a youth."
"Sorry to disappoint," Harry said dryly.
Thalia turned, her eyes shining with mischief despite her exhaustion. "He's more than you think. You should see him make breakfast. It's basically a battle."
Several of the Huntresses snorted laughter—startling in the hush. Even Artemis's lips quirked almost imperceptibly.
Harry looked around at their faces—all bruised, weary, wary—and sighed. "You're all hurt," he said, more gently now. "Please…come inside. Rest. I have bandages. Tea."
Zoë gave Artemis a questioning glance. The goddess took a moment before nodding once.
"Very well," she said. "We will accept…hospitality."
Harry raised a hand, and the tent's flap parted. He gestured them in.
One by one, they stepped over the threshold—then stopped, blinking in astonishment.
Naomi looked back over her shoulder, her eyes huge. "It's—an apartment."
Thalia smirked, brushing snow from her shoulders. "Impressive, right?."
Artemis stepped in last, silent. Her pale gaze swept over the walls, taking in every detail with quiet curiosity. She had lived for millennia—but even she had never seen magic wrought quite like this.
Harry moved among them, passing out blankets and setting a kettle to boil. Without asking, he fetched a small jar from his pack—an old wizarding salve he'd charmed himself—and began tending to scrapes and bruises. No one objected.
Phoebe accepted the salve with wide-eyed gratitude. "This feels…like ambrosia."
"It's not," Harry said. "But close enough."
As the Huntresses unstrung their bows and leaned their weapons near the hearth, Artemis crossed the room to Thalia, who was sitting by the window cleaning her lightsaber.
Artemis's expression shifted—curiosity and something softer, almost fond. "That weapon," she said. "It is…unusual."
Thalia looked up, grinning. "It's called a lightsaber."
Artemis arched a brow. "A what?"
Harry snorted from where he was pouring tea. "Long story."
Thalia held up the hilt reverently. "He made it for me," she said, nodding to Harry. "So I could fight monsters. And use my power."
Artemis's eyes softened, just for an instant. "You are not afraid," she murmured. "Not even a little."
Thalia smiled shyly. "Not anymore."
The room grew very quiet. Even Zoe, who was usually the first to scold or tease, looked away as if embarrassed by the warmth in her lady's face.
When the tea was ready and the last wound salved, Artemis rose, smoothing her cloak across her shoulders. The dawn was brightening outside the canvas walls.
"It is time," she said quietly. "We have stayed long enough."
The Huntresses gathered their weapons. Their gazes met Harry's—some grateful, some wary, all changed. Whatever they had expected of the wizard who built their wards, it had not been this: a young man who could defeat them, heal them, and offer them tea in the same breath.
Thalia followed them to the threshold. "I'll come see you soon," she promised Zoe, who ruffled her hair with surprising gentleness.
Artemis lingered in the doorway, looking back into the tent one last time.
Her gaze found Harry, who stood by the table, hands loose at his sides.
For a moment, she simply looked at him. At the dark hair falling over his eyes. At the steadiness that no spell or goddess could shake.
She felt something unexpected stir in her chest—a warmth she hadn't felt in…she couldn't remember how long.
Her heartbeat quickened. Heat rushed unbidden to her cheeks.
Foolish, she thought, cursing herself.
She turned sharply before anyone could notice her face.
"Farewell," she said, her voice steady despite everything.
Harry inclined his head. "Safe travels."
She stepped out into the snow, her Hunters following like silent silver shadows. They walked without speaking into the growing light, leaving only footprints behind.
At the treeline, Artemis dared one last glance over her shoulder.
He stood in the doorway of the tent, watching her go. Calm. Unafraid.
Her heart thumped again—so fast she felt dizzy.
Then she tore her gaze away, refusing to look back.